


every rose has its thorn

by gilliestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anxiety, Blood and Violence, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Smut, inspired by 15x07, mentions of Sam Winchester - Freeform, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21864571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gilliestiel/pseuds/gilliestiel
Summary: Lee was the first love he lost, and with Dean’s luck, he probably won’t be the last.(Or: The tragic love story of Dean and Lee, featuring all the events leading up to their final moments together — including what happened in Arizona.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Lee Webb/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75





	every rose has its thorn

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! this story is my literal baby, and i'm so excited (and nervous) to finally share it with you all. 15x07 made me cry, so i wrote this in honor of lee webb and the relationship i KNOW he had with dean at one point.
> 
> also, while this fic is dean/lee centric, it gets very dean/cas heavy towards the end. so destiel shippers, this one is for you, too :)
> 
> **quick disclaimer:** there is a smut scene in this fic, and i feel like i should preface it by saying 1) this is my first time writing mlm smut, and 2) i am a lesbian, so please go easy on me <3 i had a couple of proof readers but smut is just not my thing, however it felt important to add to the story. okay that's all!
> 
> enjoy!

**march 1998**

The full moon paints a stream of silver at Dean’s feet, lighting up the concrete path that stretches out ahead of him. He glances to the left and right of him, then over his shoulder, then back at the quiet street that disappears into the night. He thinks this place seems pretty empty — untouched. Then again, this _is_ the area his dad dropped him off at with nothing but a handgun loaded with silver bullets. ”If the werewolf ain’t here, then I know where to find it,” he’d said to his son, before sliding in behind the wheel of the Impala and driving off. There were two solid trails that they’d been trying to follow for nearly three days now, and his dad finally decided the best option would be for them to split up. Fair enough, Dean had thought. His dad rarely trusts him to hunt on his own. This is progress — maybe. Dean will admit, though, that patrolling an empty street might be the most boring part of this entire job. Still, he’s gotta do what his dad asked of him, so he puts both hands on the gun and continues down the path.

As the shadows build around him, weighing in the air like a heavy fog, Dean finds the road curving into an alleyway. He pauses, squinting against the dark, and lifts the gun slightly. He checks his surroundings a second time — to the left and right and back over his shoulder. It’s still completely silent, and there’s no sign that a werewolf ever came through here. No blood on the walls, not a body in sight — nothing. Dean rolls his eyes, knowing full well that this is probably a waste of time. His dad is probably squaring off with the monster at this very moment. Actually, knowing him, the werewolf is most likely already dead on the ground with a silver bullet in its head. This area is clear. Dean gives his shoulders a light shrug, lowers the handgun, and turns around to head back the way he came.

And there it is.

Dean barely has time to blink. The werewolf emerges from the dark and lashes out at him, its claws missing the skin on his forearm by mere inches. The young hunter jumps out of the way, surprised, and he should be reacting faster than this, but the gun still sits limply in one hand when the werewolf lunges at him, knocking him to the ground. Dean grunts in pain as his back hits the cement, and he reaches for his gun, but in the split second he let his guard down, it slipped from his hand and ended up halfway across the alley.

Feeling frustrated (and slightly terrified, though he would never admit that much) Dean glares right up at the werewolf. It hovers over him, saliva dripping from its jaws, eyes bright yellow against the dark night. Whether it wants to turn Dean into one of its own kind or carve out his heart for a snack, he isn’t sure. He sucks in a breath. _Okay, think._ He holds the monster’s stare and tries to puff out his chest and seem intimidating, but without a weapon, Dean is at a loss. If he doesn’t act fast, he’s gonna die. Fuck — he might actually _die_ on this rookie werewolf hunt. His heart is racing. He needs help. He needs his dad. He needs—

A shot goes off, and the werewolf lets out a startled cry. It hurries away from Dean before he can even process what’s happening. He scrambles to his feet and moves to get his gun, but there’s no need. _Bam._ Another agonized sound rises from the monster’s throat, almost like it’s crying out for help. And when Dean finally scoops his weapon off the ground and returns his attention to scene playing out amidst the shadows of the alley, he can finally see why.

A figure steps out of the shadows, hands trained to a gun of his own. Dean can only see the back of whoever this person is, and he watches as they corner the now frightened monster into a dead end. Blood oozes from wounds on the werewolf’s arm and shoulder, where it has already been shot twice. The figure lifts their gun and fires one last bullet between the creature’s eyes, and that does the trick. It crumples to the ground in a growing puddle of its own blood. Dean breathes a sigh of relief as he watches the light fade from its eyes.

“Uh,” he says, awkwardly raising his voice. “Thank you.”

The figure holsters their gun and turns around. As they approach Dean, he can start to make out their features by what little light is given to them from the moon. The person is a dude — young, probably around his age, if not just a few years older — with brown hair and one of the giddiest smiles Dean thinks he’s ever seen.

“Hey, no problem,” the guy says. “Glad I showed up when I did.”

Dean rolls his eyes, his ego a bit bruised. “I had it handled.”

“I’m sure you did.” Dean can’t tell whether this guy is teasing him or not, but something about him makes Dean want to shrug it off and just return the smile. So he does. He smiles gratefully (because he truly does owe this guy for saving his ass) and shakes the young man’s hand when it’s offered to him.

“Lee,” the guy introduces himself. “Lee Webb.”

“Dean Winchester.”

“Winchester?” Lee lets go of Dean’s hand, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You’re John Winchester’s kid?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Dean shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He’s well aware that his dad has made a pretty big name for himself in the hunting world, but it still catches him off guard. “I take it you’re a hunter, too?”

“Yeah, man. My whole family.” Lee shrugs. “It’s sorta like the family business, I guess. That what it’s like for you, too?”

Dean scoffs. “You could say that, I guess. Well, I mean, my brother’s off at college, so it’s really just me and the old man.”

Lee nods understandingly, and Dean’s relieved he doesn’t press the topic any further. People always ask the same questions over and over again — _”How did your brother get out of the life? Why didn’t you get out, too? And it’s just you and your dad? Where’s your mom, then?”_ Lee just leaves it be. Dean can already tell he’s gonna like this guy.

“Your dad, he around here somewhere?” Lee asks.

“Yeah, he went to check for the werewolf in a different part of town,” Dean replies. “Guess there was no need, though.” They glance over at the monster’s corpse and share a light chuckle, before Dean adds, “What about you? Are you here with your dad?”

“Nah, I went after this thing on my own,” says Lee. “My dad’s been busy with this wendigo thing up north, and my mom and sister tracked down a witch coven in Oklahoma the other day.”

“You’re lucky,” Dean says. “My dad still doesn’t trust me to hunt on my own.”

Lee raises an eyebrow. “Wait, how old are you?”

“Nineteen.”

“What?” Lee looks genuinely surprised. “My parents let me do my own thing the minute I turned sixteen. It was my birthday gift, actually. I took down this ghost in a creepy old asylum. Probably one of the wildest hunts I’ve ever been on — _and_ I got pretty wasted afterwards at this party in the same town.”

Dean smiles at that. “Man, you’re living the life. Can’t say I blame my dad, though. I mean, I _did_ almost die tonight.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t,” Lee points out.

“I would have if you hadn’t shown up.”

“But your dad doesn’t have to know that.”

Dean pauses. He studies Lee’s expression — all confident and grinning, like he just came up with the best idea ever. And maybe he did.

“Are you saying I should lie to my dad?” Dean asks.

“That makes it sound so much worse than what I had in mind,” Lee teases. “All I’m sayin’ is we find your dad, and I tell him _you_ saved _my_ life from the werewolf. Maybe if he hears you were able to take down that fleabag all on your own…” He shrugs. “Maybe it’d be good for you, Dean Winchester. Plus, I’ve heard the stories, you know. You’re one of the best hunters out there. If your old man loosened the reins a little, I’m sure you’d be pretty legendary.”

“ _Legendary?_ ” Dean lets out a slight laugh. “I don’t do this for any kind of title.”

“Exactly! You do it to help people — and because it’s something you love doing.” Lee reaches his hand out to playfully nudge Dean’s shoulder. “I already get the sense we’re pretty similar, you and I. If I were in your position at your age, I would’ve wanted someone to help me out. Family’s cool and all, but not when they’re on your ass twenty-four-seven.”

“Wait. At _my_ age?” Dean looks at Lee incredulously. “How old _are_ you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“You are not that much older than me,” Dean says, and he jabs his index finger at Lee in mock annoyance. But he’s smiling. He can’t hide his own goofy smile at this point; something about Lee just brings it out of him. After a moment, they both break out into laughter.

“That is so not the point here,” Lee says. “Will you let me help you out or not?”

Dean’s laughter fades into the quiet of the night. He sighs, and his smile feels a little tight on his face. He wants to hunt on his own — God, he’s wanted it for _years_ — but the thought of lying to John Winchester is nothing short of terrifying. If his dad ever found out…

“Don’t tell me I’m never gonna be able to hunt with Dean friggin’ Winchester without either of our dads around,” Lee adds.

Dean meets Lee’s eyes, which shine happily like two little stars lighting up the dark alley. He feels this weird, warm feeling in the pit of his stomach when he looks at Lee. Dean really takes him in right now, right here beneath the silver of the moon. There are patches of dirt on the skin of his face and neck, no doubt the result of a day full of hunting, and the werewolf’s blood is splattered across his shirt — dark blue denim, with the top two buttons undone — and he’s still got that smile. He’s smiling like he’s Dean’s only ticket away from his father and into the real world, and he’s smiling like he knows it.

“Alright,” Dean says. “Let’s give this a shot.”

“Awesome!” Lee clasps his hand over Dean’s shoulder. “I’ll come with you to find your dad. But first, we gotta do something with this body.”

He turns and walks over to the werewolf he killed, and Dean tries not to think too much about how cold his shoulder suddenly feels after Lee drops his hand. He shakes his head slightly, smiles, and follows closely behind his new friend.

**january 2000**

The little roadside bar is crowded, even for a Friday night. Dean bumped arms with at least five different people just trying to squeeze through the doorway, each of them slick with sweat after hours spent on the dance floor. Red bandanas and cowboy boots are their go-to look, which isn’t much of a surprise — this is Texas, after all. Dean watches, amused, as the Friday night crowd squeezes in front of a small stage and rocks out — country-style, of course — to the cover band’s rendition of a Brooks & Dunn song.

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Dean turns his head. Lee approaches him, a drink in each hand. This is the first night they’ve been able to hang out in about half a year, and Lee only looks a little different. He’s been trying to grow his hair out; Dean thinks it might suit him on any other day, but the Texas air is thick and humid and makes it stick up in awkward places. He has a red bandana of his own — because of course Lee of all people would have one of those lying around — and it’s tied loosely around his neck. He stands there, bright-eyed and grinning in the hazy smoke that fills the bar, and hands one of the drinks to Dean.

“So you’ve been here before?” Dean asks as he accepts the drink.

“Hell yeah,” Lee replies. “I love this place. The people, the music…” He lifts his glass and grins. “The drinks. It’s the perfect place to spend your twenty-first birthday.”

“You know,” Dean says. “I _have_ had alcohol before.”

“Drinking beer with your dad in a dirty motel room doesn’t count,” Lee says. “Trust me, I’ve been there. But once you party Texas-style, you’ll never want it any other way. Mark my words.” Keeping his glass raised in the air, he adds, “To Dean Winchester. Here’s to another year of kickin’ ass and takin’ names.”

Dean rolls his eyes and laughs. He taps his glass against Lee’s before bringing it to his lips. The liquid is strong and leaves a burning sensation in his throat. Bourbon — not really what he was expecting. He’s unable to stop himself from coughing, and he lowers the drink, ignoring the cheeky grin that spreads wide across Lee’s face when he does.

“Never had an old fashioned before?” his friend teases.

“Not in a while,” Dean says. “You know I haven’t had much time to get out lately.”

“Man, I know,” Lee says. “You’re a hunting machine.”

“I’m not complaining. Doing this job on my own is hard work, but at least I don’t have to deal with my dad breathing over my shoulder every second of every day.” It’s true — Dean’s been taking a lot of jobs on his own recently, while his dad does his own thing somewhere halfway across the country. John still has a tendency to be strict (a little too strict sometimes, but Dean figures he’s within reason — this is a tough ass life, after all), and he still doesn’t seem to trust Dean that much, but it’s fine. This is a start, at least.

Dean takes another swig of his drink.

“Fair point,” Lee says. “I’m glad you’re liking the job, but y’know, you deserve to loosen up a little and have some fun, too.”

Dean can’t help but smile at that. “That’s why you brought me to a bar in Texas… even though we could have gone literally _anywhere_ else.”

“It ain’t all that bad,” Lee says with a laugh. He glances over at the dance floor, and Dean follows his gaze. As the song picks up, people untie their bandanas and throw them up in the air. The lead singer of the cover band steps away from his mic as the guitarist follows suit with his solo. It’s nothing like Led Zeppelin or AC/DC, but Lee’s right — it’s not _that_ bad. Maybe Dean could get used to it all — the music, the atmosphere. Being here with Lee.

Dean’s pretty sure that if he could call anyone his best friend, it would be Lee. They’ve both been busy living their own lives and working different cases, but Lee remained adamant about the promise he’d made the last time they saw each other. He had said that no matter where Dean was or what either of them were up to, Lee would drive all day and night just to be able to spend his birthday with him. And he here is now, looking back at Dean with the same smile that always fills him with nothing but warmth. Sam’s at college, and his dad is working a case in a completely different state, and Lee is _here_ — and for some reason, right now, that’s enough.

“Come with me,” Lee says suddenly, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him along through the growing crowd of people.

“Where are we going?” Dean asks. Lee doesn’t answer right away, and he doesn’t need to; they’re on the dance floor in no time.

“Step one of loosening up,” Lee announces. He faces Dean, the corners of his lips pulled into a smirk, and starts moving his hips with the music. “Loosen the fuck up.”

“I don’t dance, you asshole,” Dean shouts over the music. The band is loud, and the people around them are drunkenly flailing because they think that’s what dancing looks like, and suddenly Lee is the only person in the room. He’s confident, and he’s happy, and the purple and blue of the bar’s lighting shines on him like a spotlight.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Lee shouts back. He takes his hand — the one not holding his own glass of bourbon — and places it on Dean’s shoulder. He moves his hips again, but this time, they’re a little too close to Dean’s, and it suddenly feels really hot in here. Lee seems to notice Dean’s awkward expression, and he throws his head back, laughing loudly.

“You’ve just gotta feel the music,” Lee tells him. “Come on — if Dean friggin’ Winchester can learn how to kill ghosts and monsters, I’m sure he can learn how to dance, too.”

“Fuck off,” Dean says, but he’s laughing, too. And the more Lee lets himself go to the music, the more Dean watches him and figures out how to do it, too. They dance side-by-side, smiling like idiots and laughing at each other because Dean really isn’t _that_ good of a dancer, but he’s having the time of his life, so who cares? They get a couple more drinks and always end up back on the dance floor, and after a few songs, Dean realizes this might be the most fun he’s had in his life. No monsters, no little brother to take care of, no dad to lecture him about every single thing he’s ever done wrong. Just some good music and a good friend.

As one of the songs comes to a close, Lee leans over and says to Dean, “You know, if I could ever get out of the hunting life, I think I’d open up a place like this.”

Dean looks at Lee, bewildered. He’d never even considered walking away from the life before — he never assumed Lee would have thought about it, either. “Really?”

“Yeah, man. This is the _dream._ ” He gestures to the band onstage, who are currently setting up what looks like their acoustic set. “I think I wanna be like those guys.”

“Like the ones playing instruments, or the one who’s singing?” Dean asks. Lee smirks.

“Oh, Dean,” he says. “Two years of friendship, and there is still so much you don’t know about me.”

Dean lifts his eyebrows. “Are you telling me you have some kind of hidden musical talent I don’t know about?” Sure, he’s heard Lee sing before, but it’s always just been whenever they’re in the car together and they crank up the radio and sing really badly at the top of their lungs. He’s itching to know more, but before he can press Lee about it any further, the cover band’s lead singer steps up to the mic and catches everyone’s attention.

“We’re gonna slow it down just for a little bit,” he says. “So grab onto your sweetheart and tell ‘em how much you love ‘em. This song is called “Bless the Broken Road”.”

The song starts, and Dean and Lee glance at each other. There’s an awkward pause while the people around them begin coupling up to sway along to the music, and Lee says, “Wanna sit this one out?”

Dean chuckles. “Gladly.” They move away from the dance floor to find a table, and the man onstage starts singing.

_”I set out on a narrow way many years ago, hoping I would find true love along the broken road.”_

They stumble upon an empty table near the back of the bar. Dean sits down while Lee wanders off to get them a couple more drinks. They’ve had quite a few, and Dean’s definitely starting to feel the effects of the alcohol, but one more won’t hurt. In fact, one more will probably be better for him. He watches Lee as his friend walks up to the bartender and orders their drinks. Even from where he sits, he can see the smile on Lee’s face. His skin is sweaty and flushed slightly red from all that dancing, and his hair is even more of a mess now than it was when they first walked in. It’s… endearing. (And it brings that warm, fuzzy feeling back to the pit of Dean’s stomach — the one that’s been coming and going for two years now.)

_”But I got lost a time or two, wiped my brow and kept pushing through. I couldn’t see how every sign pointed straight to you.”_

Lee returns with the drinks, and Dean graciously accepts his. He’s definitely drunk enough now to block out the burn of the alcohol. He’s also drunk enough to take notice of Lee’s arm pressing against his when his friend sits down beside him — and yet, despite the fire that builds up underneath Dean’s skin, he doesn’t move away. In fact, he shifts his body so that they’re pressed even closer together. Their knees bump together, and something akin to an electric shock runs up Dean’s spine. Neither of them move away.

_”That every long lost dream led me to where you are.”_

“I’ve had a good time tonight,” Dean says. He lifts his eyes, almost shyly, and Lee is already looking right at him. He’s smiling — Lee is _always_ smiling — but there’s something different in the smile he wears right now, in this moment. It makes Dean want to move even closer.

“You deserve it, Dean,” Lee replies. He rests his hand gently on top of Dean’s knee. “I mean that.”

Dean glances at Lee’s hand, then back up at his face. He returns the smile, and he sees him — _really_ sees him — for the first time.

_”Others who broke my heart, they were like northern stars.”_

His mind is foggy with drunkenness, along with whatever this feeling is that he gets whenever he looks at Lee. No, not just when he looks at him. When he talks to him, too. When they hunt together, or when they sit together on the bed of Lee’s truck after a hunt, and they talk late into the night about anything and everything, or when they stay quiet and just enjoy each other’s company. When they sing badly along to Dean’s classic rock tapes at the top of their lungs, or when they dance in a crowded bar in the middle of Texas.

He’s felt it ever since they met. He doesn’t know what it is — he just knows it scares the hell out of him. But not right now. Right now, he’s too drunk to care, and Lee is sitting so close, and fuck it. Maybe Lee’s right. Maybe he _does_ deserve this. He doesn’t know what the fuck _this_ would even be, Lee and him — but maybe that’s not something he should worry about. Because it’s _Lee_ , and it’s the two of them, together, and maybe that’s all that really matters.

He’s just not sure if Lee feels the same way.

_”Pointing me on my way into your loving arms.”_

With his inhibitions flying right out the window, Dean decides to take the chance. He places his hand on top of Lee’s, which still sits on his knee. His touch is slow and uncertain, and he almost snatches his hand right back. Before he can, however, Lee turns his hand on its side, allowing him to properly hold Dean’s and intertwine their fingers together.

Dean’s heart thunders in his chest. He looks up at Lee, and neither of them can fight their smiles, and Lee squeezes his hand.

_”This much I know is true… That God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you.”_

They lean towards each other, neither of them taking time to process the moment — just letting it happen. Their hands remain locked together, and Lee closes his eyes, and Dean almost closes his, too. But then they dart ever so briefly to an area behind Lee, where two girls are clearly approaching them, and Dean doesn’t know how much they saw, but he quickly releases Lee’s hand and shifts his chair back about five inches. He’s suddenly hyper-aware of how many people are in this bar, and how every couple on the dance floor is a man with a _woman_ , but at least those girls didn’t see what he and Lee were really up to — not from the angle they were standing at. They’re walking up to them now, with their matching crop tops and cowgirl hats, and Dean tries to focus on them instead of the look of shock and hurt that now rests on Lee’s face.

“Hey,” says one of the girls. She’s blonde, and she has a thick southern accent. She’s cute, Dean thinks. He moves his body as far as he possibly can away from Lee’s, and tries not to think about how tingly his hand feels.

“We noticed y’all were here alone,” says her friend. She grins and twirls a piece of hair around her finger. “We were wondering if, I don’t know, maybe we could join y’all?”

“Actually,” Lee says. “We were—”

“I have an even better idea,” Dean says. He stands up and offers his hand to the cute blonde. “Why don’t we dance?”

The girl giggles. “Dancing’s not really my thing.”

“Then let me buy you a drink,” Dean says. The girl nods, her red lips forming a cute smile — lips that Dean would kiss much sooner than Lee’s. Because it’s not like that with Lee. It never has been, and it never will be, because Lee’s a guy, and guys don’t do that sort of thing.

His heart is still beating abnormally fast, but he takes the girl’s hand and leads her in the direction of the bar. He tries not to think about leaving Lee behind without another word, or how good it felt to hold his best friend’s hand, or how he really just wants to hold it again. He can’t afford to think like that. Not here, not ever — not when John has always told him how wrong it is.

Lee leaves before Dean gets a chance to say goodbye. The next morning, Dean wakes up next to the blonde on a dusty motel mattress, with a pounding headache and a message on his phone that reads, _Happy birthday, Dean friggin’ Winchester._

**june 2000**

Dean shouldn’t be doing this.

He’s supposed to be working a case. But he found out Lee’s in town, and they haven’t seen each other since Dean’s birthday earlier that year. They’ve kept in touch, as best friends should — checking up on each other through email, calling each other on the phone every once in a while — but Dean worries it’ll be different the moment they actually see each other face-to-face. He’s not sure if Lee even _remembers_ that night. They were both pretty wasted, and neither of them mentioned it afterwards. They just slipped back into their normal routine: living separate lives, but remaining a constant in each other’s.

That’s why Dean’s so afraid. He’s worried that if he sees Lee, he’ll feel all those things again, things he’s not supposed to feel. It doesn’t matter if Lee feels the same way or not — it’s not right. It’s not natural. That’s what his dad always said. John’s voice is drilled into Dean’s head even now as he pulls his rental car up to the motel Lee is staying at. Dean’s having trouble breathing. His palms are sweaty, and he feels like there are a ton of bricks weighing down on his chest. He should just turn back now. He can’t risk making the same mistake again.

He can’t risk losing Lee.

He should be backing the car out of the parking lot and driving away, but instead, he’s parking it and pulling the keys out of the ignition. He steps out of the car, closes the door, smooths out the wrinkles on his flannel shirt — because, evidently, that’s something that matters enough to do — and heads for Lee’s motel room. He finds it quicker than he’d hoped. He thought maybe he’d have a little more time to process this, to practice what he’s going to say to Lee in his mind. He’s afraid. He should turn back. He shouldn’t be doing this.

He knocks on the door, and Lee opens it, and none of his fears matter anymore.

Lee pulls Dean into a full-body hug, wrapping him up in his arms and holding him close. Dean presses his face into Lee’s shoulder and breathes him in. It doesn’t matter if this is wrong. Dean isn’t thinking about that right now. He’s thinking about how good it feels to hold onto Lee, to be this close to him. He never wants to let him go.

After a few seconds, Lee drops his arms and pulls away. He smiles and says, “Long time, no see.”

Dean returns the smile. He steps inside the room, looking around as Lee shuts the door behind them. The room looks like any other motel room — peeling wallpaper, dusty curtains, a bed with a lumpy mattress. The bed is neatly made, however, which doesn’t really surprise Dean. Lee has always been pretty good at staying organized and put-together. His duffle bag sits in the corner of the room, next to some kind of tall case propped up against the wall. There’s a newspaper on the bedside table.

“You workin’ a case?” Dean asks, only because he doesn’t really know what else to say.

“Nah, not today,” Lee replies. “I was just passin’ through. But I’d be happy to help you out with your case, if you want.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean says. “It’s just a milk run. I’ve got it handled.” He sits down on the edge of Lee’s bed. A moment of awkward silence passes over them, and Dean wonders if Lee’s thinking about it. About that night in Texas.

“Well, if you’re done by tonight,” Lee says as he approaches Dean, “maybe we could grab some drinks or something.”

Dean looks up at him. He wants that more than anything. He wants to take a break from the job and spend a few hours with his best friend. He’s been working non stop these past few months, because it’s the only way he can take his mind off of these… these _feelings_. He wants to hang out with Lee, but if he does, those feelings might ruin everything. And the last thing he needs is for the only good thing in his life to be ruined.

“I don’t know,” Dean says. “I don’t know if I’ll be done by tonight, you know.”

“Right. Well.” Lee buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugs. “If you are.”

Dean nods. An uncomfortable silence falls over the room again. He shifts a little on the mattress, and makes a strained attempt at conversation by asking, “Anyway, what have you been up to?”

“Well.” Lee removes one hand from his pocket and runs it through his hair. He’s it out a little bit longer, Dean notices. It parts at his forehead in two dark waves, and it looks good on him, and Dean doesn’t think about how he wants to run his fingers through it. 

“I’ve been taking a small break from hunting,” his friend continues. “I haven’t seen much in the news lately. I think most of the monster problems this year are being taken care of, courtesy of someone I know.” He gives Dean a little smirk, who rolls his eyes. 

“So, what?” Dean asks. “You’ve just been partying or something?”

“Not _all_ the time,” Lee says. He pauses for a moment, then something lights up in his eyes and his lips form an excited smile. “Actually, lemme just show you.”

Dean watches as Lee walks past the bed, towards the corner of the room where he keeps his duffle bag and the tall case propped up against the wall. When Lee grabs the case and brings it over, Dean suddenly realizes what it is. He didn’t really notice at first, but when Lee sets it down on the bed and zips it open, it’s obvious.

“Is that a guitar?” Dean asks.

Lee nods, his smile growing wider. He removes the instrument from its case, before sitting down beside Dean and strapping it over his shoulders. The guitar is nothing too fancy — it’s an old, acoustic model, but Lee looks so happy to have it with him. He reaches back into the case and pulls out a small guitar pick. He strums one chord, then another, emitting a beautiful sound that fills up the little motel room.

“So _this_ is your secret talent,” Dean teases. He remembers what Lee said that night in Texas — something about how he wanted to be like those guys rocking out onstage, and how there’s still so much Dean doesn’t know about him. Lee rests his arm on top of the guitar and leans forward.

“Actually,” Lee says. “I’ve spent these past few months learning how to play. I told my dad about how I wanted to learn, and as it turns out, he had this old thing in the attic. He knew a few songs, so he’s been teaching me.”

“Play me a song, then,” Dean says, excited. He shifts closer to Lee without even realizing it. Neither of them acknowledge the way their legs touch; Dean looks pointedly at the guitar, and Lee repositions his pick.

“Okay, it might not be that good,” Lee says shyly. “I just learned—”

“Stop stalling,” Dean says with a laugh. He nudges Lee’s shoulder. “Just play it already.”

Their eyes meet, and Lee gives him a soft smile before nodding. He strums the first chord and starts playing the song. Dean recognizes it pretty quickly. He doesn’t need lyrics to recognize a song by Poison — he has plenty of their CDs sitting in his dad’s Impala. However, Lee isn’t just playing an instrumental cover. He takes Dean by surprise when he opens his mouth and starts singing, and his voice is without a doubt the most beautiful thing Dean’s ever heard.

_”We both lie silently still in the dead of night. Although we both lie close together, we feel miles apart inside.”_

Lee doesn’t look at him at first. He keeps his eyes trained on the guitar while he sings. Dean wonders if his friend knows he’s watching him. He wonders if Lee takes any notice of the way Dean moves even closer.

As he sings the next lyrics, Lee looks up. His gaze holds onto Dean’s, and Dean can’t find the courage to look away, no matter how much he knows he should.

_”Was it something I said, or something I did? Did my words not come out right?”_

Lee is unwavering now; Dean can see the confidence rising in his eyes. This song is for Dean. He doesn’t have to think twice about that. It’s a message, or an apology for what happened that night, or both. Either way, Lee is using music to tell Dean the things he could never say out loud.

His heart beats fast. He should tell Lee to stop. He should look away.

He doesn’t.

_”Though I tried not to hurt you, though I tried. But I guess that’s why they say every rose has its thorn.”_

Lee plays flawlessly without even looking at the guitar. _Not that good, my ass,_ Dean can’t help but think. He should tease Lee about it, the way a friend would. Or he should playfully nudge his arm again and compliment him on his skills. Anything to put an end to this moment — to go back to what they _should_ be.

But Dean doesn’t _want_ to put an end to it. He doesn’t want to think. So he rests his hand on top of Lee’s thigh, and they look into each other’s eyes, and there’s something in the air between them, but Dean doesn’t worry about it. He just lets it exist.

_”Just like every night has its dawn. Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song. Every rose has its thorn.”_

Dean knows what this is about. How couldn’t he? Lee feels the same way. Maybe he always has. And Dean is his rose. He’s special to Lee, he’s different — he’s more than a friend. Lee is special to Dean, too, and he wants this to turn into something more — but they _can’t_. It’s not right. 

And that, right there — that fear in Dean’s mind, the fear that makes him push Lee away — that’s the thorn.

He doesn’t want to hurt Lee anymore. He doesn’t want either of them to think about what this is or why it’s wrong. So he doesn’t think. He leans in, fully sober with a clear mind, and he doesn’t think about anything but Lee. He thinks about how sorry he is, and how he never wants to let Lee go. He thinks about how badly he wants Lee’s lips on his.

Lee stops playing, and he meets Dean halfway. Their lips join together, and it feels _right_ , and it’s all Dean has ever wanted. He cups Lee’s face with both of his hands, and the kiss is soft at first, but all these pent up feelings are out in the open now and Dean just wants more. He kisses Lee with a little more heat and his fingers end up tangled in his best friend’s hair. Lee kisses him back with just as much desperation, the same amount of _want_ , and he tries to move his guitar out of the way, but the instrument hits Dean in his side and snaps him right out of it. Dean recoils, his eyes growing wide, and he lifts a trembling hand to his lips.

“I—” Dean starts to shake his head wildly. He stands up from the bed, refusing to look at Lee. “I’m— we shouldn’t—”

“Dean,” Lee says. “It’s okay.” His voice is so soft, so _gentle_ , and it breaks Dean’s heart. It makes Dean want to hold him again and say _”I’m sorry”_ , and show him he’s sorry by kissing him over and over, and that’s _wrong_. It’s not okay. It’s so very far from okay.

“I have to go,” Dean says. He doesn’t spare Lee another glance. He turns around and hurries out of the room. The door slams shut behind him, and he hopes the sound is loud enough to block out his dad’s voice burning its way into his brain.

**august 2000**

Somehow, for some reason — maybe because the universe likes to laugh at Dean, or God, or whoever the fuck is in charge — Dean and Lee end up working a case together. With Dean’s father.

Dean had no intention of seeing Lee after what happened two months ago, at least not for a little while. He wasn’t returning Lee’s calls or replying to any of his messages. There were a lot of _I’m sorry_ s and _We can work this out_ and _Dean, I miss you_ , but none of it mattered. Dean didn’t trust himself to face Lee again. Not after what happened.

Every night, he hears Lee’s voice, singing to him and somehow saying everything they’ve both always wanted to say. Every night, he remembers the taste of Lee’s lips on his.

Dean couldn’t risk making the same mistake again. He figured it would just be easier to cut him off completely. That way, he didn’t have to hurt Lee more than he already had.

But, of course, he and his dad ran into Lee while working a ghoul case in Idaho. Lee kept things pretty professional when they crossed paths, though he barely looked Dean in the eye. He didn’t seem _angry_ , just… frustrated. Uncomfortable. And he had every right to be, too. John, clearly oblivious to the tension between Dean and Lee, tried to make Lee give up the reins on the case. Of course, Lee had to be stubborn — “I’ve got this handled,” he’d said, and John looked irritated (though maybe a little impressed, too) — so John insisted that they all work together instead.

Lee agreed. The whole exchange happened without Dean saying a word.

John knows Dean and Lee are friends. He still believes Dean was the one who saved Lee’s life on that werewolf hunt back in 1998. Maybe he can sense that there’s something hanging in the air between the two boys, but he doesn’t say anything about it. He stays focused on the case, pulling all the strings and barking orders at them (but mainly at Dean) like it’s his favorite hobby. 

The hunt seems pretty quick and easy at first. John lures the ghoul into a trap, and Dean and Lee kill it together. They’re still a great team, despite everything. As the monster’s corpse drops to the ground, Dean wipes his bloody hands on his jeans and looks over at Lee. He almost smiles, but Lee turns away before he can.

Honestly, the day rolls by in a blur. Dean spends the majority of it very pointedly avoiding Lee’s gaze and forcing himself not to think about the kiss. Just when he thinks it’s all over and he can finally cut Lee out of his life again, the three of them find out later that the ghoul they killed isn’t the last of their problems in this little town — it had a few friends, and people are still getting killed. Even so, John wants to take the boys out for drinks to celebrate a job well done on the first day of the hunt. Dean breathes a sigh of relief when Lee respectfully declines. But then Dean watches him walk away, and he feels something closing in on his chest, so he turns to his dad and asks him if he can just go back to the motel.

“I’m feeling a little sick,” he lies. John isn’t too pleased with this, but he nods anyway. So Dean walks back, his head hanging low, the feeling of panic weighing down on his chest. He knows Lee is staying on the first floor of the motel, but he doesn’t bother. He _shouldn’t_. He pauses by his room, only briefly, before turning and heading for the staircase.

By the time Dean reaches the motel room, his chest is no longer constricting, but he isn’t back to normal, either. He just feels numb. Numb enough to reach for one of the beer bottles that his dad packed into the motel room fridge and lift it to his lips. Always trust John Winchester to bring a shit ton of alcohol on a hunt. Dean is thankful for it now, as he sits on the floor with his back against the wall. The liquid slide down his throat, leaving a distant burn that he graciously welcomes. He lets the numbness overcome him as he downs one bottle, then a second, then a third. If he had kept going, maybe it would have been enough for him to black out, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with these fucking feelings any longer.

If there hadn’t been a knock at the door, maybe he would have kept going.

Dean stands up with a grunt. It’s probably his dad, who will definitely yell at him for drinking all his beer, but fuck it. Dean doesn’t give a shit right now. With his fourth bottle still in hand, he saunters over to the door and opens it.

John Winchester isn’t the one on the other side.

“I couldn’t,” Lee says, and Dean scrunches his eyebrows together, confused. Lee shakes his head furiously and hastily continues, “I couldn’t keep quiet. Not when we have so much shit to figure out.”

Dean frowns. He steps aside to let Lee in, despite _everything_ , and he says, “There’s nothing to figure out, Lee.”

“Like _hell_.” Dean closes the door and turns around to face him. Lee glances at all the empty beer bottles scattered around the mini fridge, then back at Dean, before sighing loudly as if to say _Fuck it_. He opens the fridge and grabs a beer for himself.

“That’s not yours,” Dean points out.

Lee nearly downs the bottle in one go. He lowers it, wipes his lips with the back of his hand, and glares at Dean. “Shut up,” he says. “Shut the _fuck_ up, Dean.”

“If you just came here to be an ass, then you can fucking leave,” Dean says icily.

“That’s not why I came here, and you know it,” Lee snaps.

“Then why did you come here?” Dean demands. He doesn’t mean to raise his voice, doesn’t even really notice it until he sees Lee flinch slightly. “Enlighten me, Lee. Because I really have no fucking idea.”

It all happens so fast after that. Lee sets down the bottle and marches up to Dean, and Dean doesn’t move away, even though he should. Lee places his hands on the sides of Dean’s face and kisses him, a bit harshly, but still soft in the way Lee always is. The passion is there, frustrated and angry, but with an unrelenting desire that gives Dean chills. The kiss feels like Lee is saying _You’re an idiot, Dean Winchester, and you pissed me off but I still fucking want you_ and Dean hears him, loud and clear. He hears him and he kisses him back.

Lee bites softly at Dean’s lower lip, while his hands drift down from Dean’s jaw to rest on his shoulders. Dean obliges, his thoughts hazy, and parts his lips wide enough for Lee’s tongue to slip inside. Lee tastes like a mix of beer and whiskey. He must have already gotten himself wasted in his own grimy motel room. Dean wonders if Lee’s heart hurts just as much as his. He wonders if Lee felt just as numb without him.

_No,_ Dean thinks. _It’s probably even worse for him._

Dean pulls away. This isn’t right. He shakes his head, avoiding Lee’s gaze, and walks over to the bed. He sets the mostly empty bottle on the bedside table, lowers himself onto the mattress, and places his head in his hands.

The room is silent for a moment. Countless unspoken thoughts hang heavy in the air between them. Dean wishes Lee would just walk away from this, but he doesn’t. Instead, he quietly sits beside Dean on the bed, leaving a reasonable amount of space between them, because they are just friends. That’s all. And he doesn’t say a word. He just sits there, patient, like he always has been. Like he always will be — even though Dean doesn’t deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says finally. He lifts his head and looks up at Lee, who is watching him with those kind, caring eyes of his. He’s so good to Dean, even though Dean has been treating him like shit ever since Texas. Dean pleads silently for him to leave, _now_ , before this gets any worse.

(Before Dean loses him for good.)

“Dean,” Lee says, voice much gentler than it was just a few minutes ago. His lips are all red and kiss-swollen, and he still has some dried ghoul blood on his arms and hands and underneath his fingernails. The dark circles underneath his eyes tell Dean that he hasn’t slept in days; not only that, he just looks so _sad_. Dean doesn’t know what to do or how to fix it. He wants to make Lee feel better, but not like this. It can never be like this.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says again, his voice cracking slightly. He’s running out of things to say. 

“We just need to talk about this,” Lee says. Dean shakes his head and looks away, but Lee continues before he can make another excuse to back out of this. “Why haven’t you been returning my calls? Why… why are you pushing me away?”

His last question is weighted with so much more than what he says out loud. Dean knows what he really wants to ask: _”Why did you almost kiss me in Texas, then leave me in the dust for some girl! Why did you kiss me back after I played that song for you, then suddenly pull away and run out of the room and leave me behind without saying a word? Why do you keep leading me on?”_

If Dean could answer Lee’s questions, he would. He squeezes his eyes shut. His throat feels tight. He folds his trembling hands together on his lap, and he can still taste Lee’s lips on his. He wants to taste them again.

“I’m afraid,” he finally chokes out. He opens his eyes, but he doesn’t look at Lee. He can’t. Not like this. He just stares at his shoes, his vision wavering. The fear tells every inch of his body to close in on itself, so that’s what it starts to do. He’s losing touch with reality, and he needs Lee to ground him. He’s the only one who can. But he shouldn’t be. And fuck, Dean doesn’t know what to do anymore.

“Afraid of what?” Lee asks softly. He moves his body a bit closer to Dean’s, very tentatively. Dean wants to hold onto him and shove him away all at once.

“Of losing you,” Dean says. He finally rests his eyes on Lee’s face, and low and behold, Lee is _smiling_. It’s a very soft smile, and it doesn’t make any sense considering the circumstances — considering how much of an _asshole_ Dean is being right now — but it’s there, and it slows the trembling of Dean’s hands, if only a little.

“You’re not going to lose me,” Lee says. “I thought I made that pretty obvious when I kissed you.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dean shakes his head, frustrated. “We don’t— we _can’t_ — this isn’t right. Us — whatever _this_ is — it’s not… it’s not _natural_ , Lee.”

“Really?” Lee’s smile falls when the realization hits him — the truth behind why Dean keeps pushing him away. “And who told you that?”

Dean opens his mouth to answer, but he stops. He casts his gaze downward. John’s voice plays in his head like an annoying record on repeat.

“Dean,” Lee says. “I’m not going to push you into doing something you’re not comfortable with. But,” he gestures between the two of them with his finger, “there _is_ something here, and you know it. I just want you to know that… I mean, I know the world we live in doesn’t exactly accept this kinda thing, but why should that matter? We aren’t hurting anyone. Why should it matter to them why we feel the way we do?”

He’s right. These feelings that arise when Lee kisses him, or holds his hand, or sings for him — they don’t disgust Dean. Not in the slightest. Even here, amidst all his fear and confusion, he still feels those things for Lee. They’re like a light in the dark, and he just wants more of it. It shouldn’t be a bad thing. Why should it be a bad thing? Dean likes women, and he likes men, and he just wants to be with whoever the fuck he wants. He wants to be with Lee.

But he can’t.

“It’s not… it’s not just about what people would say,” Dean says slowly. “Lee, I… this is just all so confusing. My whole life, my dad has made one thing very clear — it’s either one way or the highway. And usually, I was fine with that, you know. I know I like chicks, so I never really had to worry about anything else. But then… then I met you.”

Lee’s eyes soften. He reaches out to Dean, like he wants to touch him, to bring them close together again, but he’s still unsure. His hand hovers briefly in the air before he places it on the mattress next to Dean’s leg.

“You’re just so… well, you’re different,” Dean continues. “This thing between us… whatever this is… I’ve never actually felt this for anyone else before. And I want to keep it going, I do. But… but I’m afraid of what would happen if my dad found out, or if… if _Sammy_ found out, and I just don’t know, Lee. I’m afraid of making promises to you that I wouldn’t be able to keep. I’m afraid of driving you away.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments. He wonders if he’s said too much, but when Lee takes his hand, his touch soft and full of warmth, Dean realizes he’s said just enough.

“Dean, listen to me,” Lee says. “I’m not going anywhere. You hear me? I know how hard this is gonna be. I know it’s not super traditional or whatever, and we might have to keep it a secret for a while. But I don’t give a shit about that. All I give a shit about is you. I want _you_ , Dean, and that’s it. There’s nothing more to it.”

Dean’s eyes widen slightly, and the honesty of Lee’s words wash over him like warm sunlight. He’s at a loss for what to say, so he just holds Lee’s gaze with his. He’s afraid and unafraid all at once, his heart lit aflame as Lee rests one hand against Dean’s cheek.

“You’re Dean friggin’ Winchester,” Lee says, his voice soft. “You’re not afraid of anything. So don’t be afraid of this.”

He leans in and presses his lips to Dean’s. Dean kisses him back with a bit of uncertainty at first, but the fire in his heart spreads even wider until every inch of him just wants to be close to Lee. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks or what they say. Not when Lee makes Dean feel more wanted than he’s ever been, like he’s a prize to be cherished. Dean curls his fingers around the collar of Lee’s shirt. His lips move desperately against his best friend’s, and there’s heat rising between them, and Dean just wants more. He presses his body as close to Lee’s as he possibly can. Dean’s tongue darts across the roof of his mouth, tasting the traces of alcohol. They’re both pretty wasted, but neither of them have lost control of their inhibitions, not yet — and anyway, the kiss alone is enough to sober Dean up. Lee runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, and Dean releases Lee’s collar, opting instead to trail his hands down Lee’s body. He places them on Lee’s waist, and their lips part ever so slightly as one hand drifts onto the almost-hard bulge in Lee’s pants. He rolls his hips upward into Dean’s palm, eliciting a soft gasp from Dean.

Dean pulls away, but only slightly. He rests his forehead against Lee’s, their breath hot and heavy on each other’s skin. Dean returns his hands to Lee’s waist and holds them there for a moment.

“It’s okay,” Lee whispers. Dean finds his eyes somewhere in the fog of relentless wanting. They are still so soft, filled entirely with understanding. Lee is ready — ready to lose himself to Dean’s touch, to be with him, because it’s all he’s wanted for the past two years. And it’s all Dean wants, too. So fuck it. He captures Lee’s lips again and pushes him down on the bed. They position themselves so that Dean is straddling Lee, and his hands are already working on lifting up Lee’s shirt when the door flies open.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?”

Dean sits up immediately, all the blood in his veins running cold as he’s flooded with fear. He doesn’t know what to do other than guiltily rest his eyes on John Winchester standing in the doorway.

He tries to rack his brain for an excuse, but he can’t seem to think, not when his dad is glaring at him with such anger and disgust. Lee’s voice is soft and steady when he tries to help out by saying, “Mr. Winchester, sir, that wasn’t what it looked—”

“Dean,” John says harshly, interrupting him. He doesn’t even look at Lee. He just stares right at Dean, his gaze cold and unwavering, and Dean suddenly forgets how to breathe. “A _word_ , please.”

Dean stands up obediently. He follows John out of the room without looking at Lee; he’s afraid he’ll break under all the pressure if he sees the look on his best friend’s face. He knows what Lee’s expression would look like anyways — kind, understanding. He knows Lee will find him later and apologize, even though none of this is his fault, and tell him that if Dean wants to cut this off now, it’s okay. Lee will understand. He always does. But Dean doesn’t _want_ to cut it off. Even as John wraps his hand tightly around Dean’s wrist and hauls him down the stairs to the first floor of the motel, all Dean can think about is how he wants to go back to Lee. Screw all of this. It isn’t fucking fair. Dean just wants to be with Lee.

As soon as they reach the parking lot, illuminated only by a few street lamps and the moon, John turns to Dean and slaps him right across the face.

“What the hell were you thinking, boy?” he snaps.

Dean takes a step backwards. He doesn’t bring his hand to his face. He doesn’t move at all. He just stands there, keeping his body as straight as possible, and looks his father in the eye.

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” is all Dean can think to say. It’s what Lee was about to say, anyway. He tries to sound unafraid, but his voice wavers, and he knows it’s a stupid excuse. He knows what it looked like when his father walked in. Dean was literally straddling his male best friend.

“Yeah?” John takes a step forward. “Then what the hell was it?”

Dean’s hands are trembling again, so he hides them behind his back. His father’s eyes are so _hateful_ , and Dean doesn’t want to be afraid, but he is. He drops his gaze, briefly, and tries again.

“He… he kissed me,” Dean says quietly. He doesn’t want to put the blame on Lee, but he doesn’t know what else to do. “I didn’t ask him to—”

“I don’t care,” John growls. “I don’t care who kissed who or how it happened. I don’t need the fucking details. But you listen to me, son… _that_ is not okay. It’s not fucking natural. Do you understand me?”

John has said those words so many times that they’re starting to lose their meaning. They’re already sitting in Dean’s brain, but now Lee’s words are there, too. Dean is so frustrated, and he doesn’t know what to think or what to believe, so he just looks back up at his father and nods. He just wants this to be over with.

His dad heaves a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Look,” he says. “Webb’s a good kid. I know he’s a good friend to you, and that’s fine. I like the guy. I’ve never seen anyone better in a fight. And I know it’s hard to have relationships in a life like this, but don’t… don’t mistake a good friendship for _that_. Don’t turn it into something it’s not.”

Dean balls his hands into fists. They’re not trembling anymore. The fear is gone, mostly — now he just wants to hit something.

“Yes, sir,” he says blankly.

“Good.” John shakes his head, the disgust still clear on his face. “Now, you listen to me. I found a lead on the other ghouls — that’s why I came back early. So you go up there and you tell Lee we have a job to take care of, and we just put this whole thing behind us. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll be waiting in the car.” He starts in the direction of the Impala, then pauses and turns back around. “Oh, and one last thing.”

Dean takes a deep breath and meets his father’s eyes.

“If it happens again,” John says, “I’ll have you cut ties with that boy for good.”

He walks away without another word. Dean stands there in the empty parking lot, still willing himself not to be afraid, but then it hits him. It hits him hard, under the pale moonlight, his skin still buzzing from Lee’s touch.

Dean is in love with Lee Webb, and it’s only a matter of time before he loses him. Just like he’s lost every other good thing that has ever happened to him.

**october 2002**

“Dean, watch out!”

Dean ducks out of the way, narrowly missing the axe that the ghost swings at his head. He retreats until his back hits the wall, the ghost slowly advancing on him. He’s a creepy son of a bitch, with a mangled face and a big, open wound on the top of his head. Dean can quite literally see his skull. He’s seen worse, of course — but this guy is a tough opponent, and that big ass axe is a terrifying weapon. Dean’s eyes glance wildly around the room, searching for something he can use on the ghost — iron, salt, _anything_ — and then Lee calls out to him again.

“Heads up!” Dean looks over at Lee, where he stands on the other side of the room. He tosses Dean an iron fire poker that he snatched from the nearby fireplace. Dean catches it with ease, and uses it to strike the ghost before it can attack him with the axe. As soon as the crowbar touches the spirit, Dean and Lee watch as it disappears in a cloud of smoke.

“You okay?” Lee asks, panting. He holds his own fire poker with one hand; with the other hand, he wipes a bead of sweat away from his forehead. Dean smiles and gives him a thumbs up.

“Never better,” he replies. “But it won’t be long before that son of a bitch comes back.”

“The ring,” Lee says. “We gotta find it and burn it.”

Dean nods. They learned just a few hours before coming to this old house that their axe-wielding ghost friend — the one who had already brutally murdered his mother and sister — is most likely tied to Earth by a small diamond ring made from his ashes. If Dean and Lee could find that ring and burn it, the ghost would finally be at peace. He had stuck around to get revenge on his entire family for keeping his wife’s affair a secret from him; a secret that eventually got him killed. The story Dean and Lee uncovered was pretty sad, and yeah, Dean felt bad for the guy. But in a job like this, you can’t always afford to let your emotions get in the way. So while the cheating wife sits safely at the police station across town, Dean and Lee are here in this giant house, fighting to put the spirit to rest. Dean tightens his grip on the fire poker and walks over to Lee.

“Let’s check upstairs,” Dean tells him. “It might be in the bedroom.”

They hurry up the staircase as quickly as they can, determined to find the ring before the ghost reappears. Unfortunately for them, the ghost is already waiting for them on the second floor. He stands at the front end of a long, narrow hallway, which leads directly into the master bedroom. He’s holding his axe, looking ready to strike, and he’s already marching towards Dean and Lee the moment they reach the top of the staircase.

“I’ll hold him off,” Lee mutters under his breath. “You go find that ring.”

“You sure?” Dean asks. He knows the ring is their only shot, but this ghost is one of the tougher ones he’s faced — he’s not sure he wants to leave Lee here on his own.

“Don’t worry about me,” Lee says. Their eyes meet, and Lee’s reassuring smile is enough to still the panic rising in Dean’s bones. Dean nods carefully and steps aside, watching as Lee stretches his arms open to taunt the ghost.

“What are you gonna do, you ugly son of a bitch?” Lee shouts. “Huh? You think that axe is gonna be enough to take me out?”

The ghost snarls and charges at Lee head-on. Lee dodges the attack and jumps through the nearest doorway, into what looks like some sort of study. The ghost follows Lee inside, and Dean considers that his cue. He takes off running down the hallway and bursts through the bedroom door. 

The room is _huge_ , complete with satin bed sheets and exquisite decorations and paintings that must have cost a fortune. This family was a pretty wealthy one, from what Dean learned, so he isn’t surprised to see a jewelry box on the wife’s vanity, overflowing with pearl necklaces and rings crafted from all types of precious stones. He hurries over there, his lungs already tightening from stress, because how the hell is he supposed to know which of these rings is the right one? They all look the same to him.

Just as he considers simply setting the entire jewelry box on fire, he notices a small, black box next to the vanity mirror. Dean snatches it up and opens the lid. Sitting on a velvety cushion inside the box is a diamond ring, and Dean can see engraved on the silver band a name: _Richard_. That’s the name of their ghost friend, which means this _has_ to be the ring. Dean removes it from the box, when suddenly he hears a crash from down the hallway.

“Dean!” Lee yells. “You might wanna hurry it up, man!”

Keeping the ring tightly secured in the palm of his hand, Dean runs out of the bedroom. He sees that Lee and Richard the ghost have ended up back in the middle of the corridor, with Lee on the ground without a weapon. His fire poker lies on the floor several feet away. Lee stares up at the ghost, his nerves clear in his expression now as the ghost raises its axe.

Dean fishes his lighter out of his pocket and flicks it on. He holds the flame up to the diamond, but it doesn’t catch on fire right away. “Come on, come on,” he mutters under his breath. The ghost stands directly over Lee now, holding his axe high in the air as he prepares to bring it down on the hunter.

“Hey, Richard!” Dean shouts.

The ghost stops with his axe middair. He lowers it, slowly, and turns around to face Dean. Dean greets him with a triumphant smirk, tossing the ring to the floor as soon as it catches fire. Richard’s shocked gaze falls on the tiny piece of jewelry, made from his own flesh and bones, and he shakes his head furiously.

“Take that, you son of a bitch,” Dean says.

The ghost lets out a blood-curdling scream as it bursts into flames. Dean and Lee watch as the fire eats up the spirit until there is nothing left. It’s gone in an instant, and the hallway falls silent, as if nothing was ever there in the first place.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. He looks over at Lee, who is still sitting on the ground, his face turned towards the ceiling as he takes a moment to recover. Dean walks over to him and offers his hand, which Lee graciously accepts. Dean helps him to his feet, and before he can say anything, Lee cups Dean’s face in his hands and crashes their lips together.

A bit taken by surprise, Dean nearly staggers backwards, but he rests his hands on Lee’s waist and kisses him back. There’s a desperate sort of hunger in Lee’s kiss, a fiery longing — maybe because he almost died today, but Dean isn’t sure. Dean pulls back slightly, a small smile forming on his face.

“Easy there, tiger,” he teases.

Lee smirks. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“It’s not the first time,” Dean points out. They’ve been working a lot of cases together recently — much more than usual. It’s their only excuse to get away from John and be together the way they _want_ to be. So, truly, this isn’t the first time Dean has rescued Lee from a near-death experience; honestly, it goes both ways. Just last week, Dean got hexed by a crazy witch, and Lee was there to end her life just in time. Still, Lee looks at Dean with something burning in his gaze — a mix of love and gratitude and relief — and he swipes his thumb across Dean’s jaw.

“Let’s go back to the motel,” Lee says, his voice low and full of wanting. It sends a shiver down Dean’s spine. Dean pulls Lee a little closer and kisses him again.

“Or,” he murmurs against Lee’s lips. “There _is_ a bedroom right over there.”

Lee leans back to look at him, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. Maybe it’s a little disrespectful, but doing what they do, they’re not exactly known for being morally outstanding citizens. The bedroom is right over there, with a _massive_ king-sized bed, and Dean can already feel his skin growing hot, begging for Lee’s touch. And anyway, they deserve a little reward for the hell that axe-wielding ghost put them through. So Dean smiles at Lee, links their hands together, and leads him into the bedroom. They don’t bother closing the door behind them — no one’s gonna think to come by this house anyways, not until the dead guy’s wife gets the all-clear. Dean doesn’t waste any time gathering Lee’s t-shirt in his fists and pulling it up over his head. Lee works with the buttons on Dean’s flannel as Dean walks them towards the bed, their lips moving hungrily against each other. Lee backs up into the side of the bed and pauses to sit on the mattress, pulling Dean gently on top of him. He finishes with the flannel, opening it up and pushing it down off Dean’s arms. 

Dean wraps his arms around Lee’s neck and positions himself on his lap. Lee runs his hands along Dean’s back, his touch leaving a trail of sparks wherever they go. Dean rolls his hips into Lee’s, and he savors the quiet moan that Lee releases into his mouth. Lee’s soft touches on the skin of Dean’s back turn a bit harsh, his fingernails digging into the areas on either side of Dean’s spine. Dean rolls his hips again, and he’s the one to let out a groan this time when he feels how hard Lee is already. He parts their lips only slightly, his breath hot and heavy on Lee’s skin.

“Dean—” Lee breathes.

“Hold on a second,” Dean says. He moves off of Lee’s lap and walks over to the bedside table. This bed held a married couple once, so sure enough, Dean finds what he needs. He tosses Lee a condom and a bottle of lube; Lee is already working on unzipping his jeans and lying fully down onto the mattress. Dean finishes undressing himself before returning to the company of the man he gets to call his. Lee is almost completely naked now, wearing nothing but his boxers, and his eyes rest on Dean’s face as Dean straddles him. He looks at Dean like Dean is the sun, and in between all the heat and desire that courses through Dean’s veins, he’s flooded with the softest kind of warmth — the same warmth he feels every time Lee looks at him that way. It reminds him of sunrises and early mornings, and the slow songs Lee plays for Dean when they’re alone. Dean lowers his body on top of Lee’s and captures his lips, kissing him slowly and softly, just for a moment. Then Lee rolls his hips up against Dean’s, and _fuck_ , Dean is so in love and he just wants Lee, every damn inch of him. He breaks the kiss to trail smaller kisses along Lee’s jaw, hot and wet on his skin.

Breath heavy, Dean works on pulling off Lee’s underwear. Once they’re off, Lee spreads his legs open and tilts his head back slightly. Dean slathers the lube onto his hand and presses one finger inside of Lee, slowly and carefully. The sound that comes out of Lee is pretty encouraging, so Dean works in a second finger. He can feel Lee growing hot around his hand, and it doesn’t take too much time preparing for Lee to let out a desperate moan.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he says. “Dean.”

Dean removes his fingers, and they get themselves ready with itching hands, putting on the condoms and slicking each other up. Lee places his hands on Dean’s shoulders, and all it takes is one glance at Lee’s face to see the hungry longing, the unspoken _please_ that rests heavy in Lee’s eyes. Dean sinks in slowly and lets out a quiet moan. Lee buries his fingernails into Dean’s shoulders, holding onto him tightly, as if he has no intention of ever letting him go. He pulls Dean downwards a little more to catch his lips, and the permission to continue is there in the kiss, all deep and passionate and pleading for more. Dean pushes himself back up on his knees and thrusts into Lee. Lee meets every single jerk of Dean’s hips without missing a beat. It’s their own personal rhythm, something Dean has grown very used to during these past two years, and it’s flawless and it’s perfect and it’s _theirs_. They move in sync, fitting together like two puzzle pieces, and everything is white hot and euphoric. Dean doesn’t want anything else. There’s only Lee.

Lee moans and arches his back, his hand curling around his own erection as he comes close. Dean feels it too, the familiar heat pooling in his abdomen, and he continues to thrust into Lee. Their movements are quicker now, a little more frantic, and Lee gasps out, “Oh god, Dean, _fuck_. I’m almost—”

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “Me too.”

They finish more or less together, and Dean pulls out slowly, the waves of pleasure rolling over him. He drops himself onto the mattress next to Lee, taking off the condom and flicking it onto the floor. They both lie there for a moment, catching their breath as the heat around them slowly calms down.

“Dean,” Lee says. Dean turns his head to look at him. Lee’s face glistens with sweat, his skin flushed and his lips red and swollen, and he gives Dean the warmest of smiles. He finds Dean’s hand and links their fingers together.

“Yeah?” Dean asks.

“I love you.”

Dean smiles. It’s not the first time he’s heard that from Lee. Still, every time those three words slip past Lee’s lips, they find a new way to make Dean melt. Dean leans over and kisses him, and it feels nice and safe, and Dean hopes he’ll never have to let this go.

“I know,” Dean says.

**september 2003**

They’re too late.

The monster’s dead body hits the floor with a dull _thud_ after Dean yanks the knife out of its chest. It won’t hurt anyone else, at least, but Dean’s blood runs cold — because when Lee hurries over to help the people it kidnapped, they’re already gone.

“Lee,” Dean says, quietly.

Lee doesn’t respond. He unties the ropes from their bodies and lays each of them down on the floor. It’s a sight Dean can barely stand to look at. A mother and her three young children, mutilated and drained of their blood. Their eyes are still open, glassy and lifeless; their faces are forever trapped in an expression of horror.

Dean walks over, slowly, hesitantly. Lee is shaking his head frantically, as if he’s refusing to believe it. He kneels down beside the youngest child, a small girl with braids in her hair, wearing a frilly pink dress stained red with her own blood. Lee places his hands over her little chest and compresses it, once, then twice, desperate to bring her back — but it’s too late.

“Lee,” Dean says again. He reaches out to touch Lee’s arm, but Lee slaps it away.

“No,” he snaps. There are tears forming in his eyes. “They can’t be— they _can’t_ —”

“It’s too late.” Dean drops to his own knees, next to Lee and the four bodies. “We were too late.”

Lee looks at him then, and Dean’s heart just _breaks_. Dean wishes he could be there to save everyone, and when he can’t, it fucks with his mind. But Lee seems to be taking the loss a bit worse than he is. Maybe it was because, when they found the monster’s hideout, it was already in the process of carving open the bodies of those people and they just _knew_ — they knew even before they fought the monster that it was already too late. Maybe it’s the fact that they came _so close_ , and yet they still lost anyways. It’s too much for Lee to handle; that much Dean can tell. Lee can’t hold in his tears any longer, and Dean watches as they stream down his face, streaked with dirt and blood. He watches as Lee crumbles to pieces right in front of him. Dean wraps his arms around his lover and holds him tight. He knows there are no words that could comfort either of them right now, but Dean wants to show Lee that he doesn’t have to bear the weight of this loss alone. It’s their burden to carry, _together_.

Lee, however, just can’t shake the loss. They burn the bodies and head back to the motel, moving side-by-side in silence. Dean has never seen Lee like this before. It worries him, but he doesn’t say anything. Lee has always been patient with him; Dean figures he should do the same, and Lee will talk when he’s ready.

They share the same bed that night, as they always do, but something is different. Lee leaves a little too much space between them, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Dean reaches over and touches him, tentatively. He tries to comfort Lee by tracing soft patterns along his chest, but Lee doesn’t react. He lies completely still, as if he’s made of stone. After about an hour, Dean gives up. He’s beyond exhausted, so he rolls over on his other side and allows sleep to carry him away. Lee will talk to him in the morning, when he’s ready to. This day was bad enough for the both of them, so Dean understands.

Dean is half-asleep when Lee gets up in the middle of the night. He doesn’t remember much, other than the sounds of Lee shuffling around the room. Dean moves onto his stomach, the side of his head resting against the pillow. His eyes are closed, and he’s still groggy with sleep when he feels the touch of Lee’s hand on his forehead. Dean is pretty sure it’s a dream, so he doesn’t move much, and he doesn’t completely wake up. Lee strokes Dean’s hair very carefully, like he’s afraid he might break Dean if he’s not gentle enough.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Dean,” he whispers. “I need to leave for a bit, clear my head. But I’ll come back. You aren’t losing me, Dean Winchester. I love you.”

He presses his lips to Dean’s forehead, but Dean has already fallen back asleep.

When Dean wakes up the next morning, Lee’s side of the bed is empty, and all of his belongings are gone. He calls Lee in a panic, and is relieved when he picks up, but Lee says he’s not coming back — not right away, anyways — and his heart stops beating. He listens in silence to the things Lee says to him — “I just need some time, that’s all” and “Go live your life, Dean Winchester, and don’t stay too hung up on me” — and then that’s it. The call ends, and Dean breaks apart. He doesn’t know if it was just the hunt that got to Lee’s head, or if Dean did something wrong, but the truth of the matter is clear.

Lee broke up with Dean. He shattered Dean’s heart without any explanation. He left the pieces behind in Arizona, on that dry September morning, and Dean is completely alone. Again.

Somehow, he always knew it would end up this way.

**april 2004**

Dean doesn’t hold a grudge. He still wants Lee in his life, even if it can’t always be the way it was.

They keep in touch the way friends do. Dean will occasionally check in to see how Lee is doing, and Lee will do the same. Dean notices, however, that whenever he tries to tell Lee about a hunt, his friend’s responses are short and a little cold. He declines Dean’s offer to work a case with him each time he asks. So, eventually, Dean stops asking. They stop working together, and they stop having a reason to see each other, or to talk at all.

They lose touch. It’s a gradual change, and Dean doesn’t really notice it when it fully happens. He’s working a case with his dad when the thought comes to him: _Oh. I haven’t heard from Lee in a while_.

He tells himself he shouldn’t worry, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t pick up the phone to call Lee and see how he’s doing.

He’s sure Lee is doing fine.

**november 2012**

“Are you sure there’s actually a case here?”

Dean glances over at Cas, who’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala and fiddling with his tie. For someone who doesn’t play the part of an FBI agent too often, he cleans up pretty well. Dean reaches over to help him out. He straightens the angel’s tie and fixes his collar, meeting his eyes and smiling as he does so.

“Positive,” Dean says.

“But only two people have gone missing over the course of the last three weeks,” Cas points out. “I’m not sure that constitutes the possibility of a monster taking prisoners in Arizona.”

“When did you become a pro hunter?” Dean teases. Cas rolls his eyes, but there’s a tiny smile playing at his lips.

“Look,” Dean continues. “Sam’s not doing too well. These trials have got him pretty worn out, you know. But there are still people out there who need saving, so that’s why I brought you here.”

“To help you with a case that is most likely not actually a case,” Cas says playfully.

“This is a case,” Dean replies. “I’ll prove it to you. C’mon.”

They get out of the car and head inside the police station, where the sheriff is already waiting for them. He clearly assumes that Dean and Cas are FBI before they even flash their fake badges. The man’s face floods with relief, and he respectfully shakes both of their hands. He seems a little frantic, and he leads the two hunters into his office as quickly as he can.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see the FBI taking over,” says the sheriff, moving behind his desk as Dean and Cas take their seats. 

“You think this is more than just a regular missing persons?” Dean asks.

“Oh, definitely,” the sheriff says. “This isn’t the first time our town has seen something like this.”

“What do you mean?” Cas asks. Dean glances over at the angel. He’s sitting up a little too straight in his chair, and there’s an expression on his face that Cas probably thinks is a professional one, but to Dean, it just makes him seem a little grumpy. It’s cute.

“Nine years ago, something very similar happened,” the sheriff says. He pulls out a file and places it on the desk. “People went missing over the course of several months. I think whoever it was spaced out the kidnappings so it wouldn’t look suspicious. We still don’t know what happened to those people, if they died or what, but we never even found any bodies.”

Dean opens the file. It’s a missing persons case dated September 2003. The date feels vaguely familiar to Dean — so does the town, honestly — but he can’t quite put his finger on it. He flips the page, where the photos of all the people who went missing that year are printed. His eyes fall on each of them, one-by-one — and then, just like that, his heart stops.

Her picture is on the bottom right corner of the page. She’s a young girl, no older than eight years old, with a bright smile and braids in her hair.

Dean remembers. He remembers what took those people. He remembers what happened to them.

Suddenly, he can’t find the strength to breathe. There’s a weight forming on his chest that just keeps getting heavier and heavier, and he can’t think straight. All he can think about is that family, that _thing_ that killed them, and — _God_ — all that blood. He thinks about how close they had come to saving those people. Yes, there was a _they_ — Dean remembers that now, too. It wasn’t just him who worked that case in Arizona, all those years ago. _Shit_. The file quivers in Dean’s hands as they become unsteady. His vision is starting to black out.

“Agent?” the sheriff asks. “Is everything okay?”

Dean nods. He places the file back on the desk as carefully as he can and rises to his feet.

“I just… need a minute,” he says. “My partner will finish up here.” He looks at Cas, who gives him a small nod. There’s worry painted all over the angel’s face, but Dean can’t think about that right now. He can’t think about anything besides that day. He leaves the office and hurries out of the building, and he doesn’t stop until he reaches his car in the parking lot. He rests both hands against the side of the Impala and drops his head. His heart is beating abnormally fast. He closes his eyes and tries to regain control over his breathing.

He doesn’t notice when Cas walks up. All he knows is that when he looks up, his best friend is already standing next to him. He’s watching Dean, his blue eyes soft with concern.

“What happened, Dean?” he asks.

Dean takes a deep breath. “It… it doesn’t matter,” he replies. “I just remembered I worked a case here a few years ago, that’s all.”

Cas nods, and Dean can tell he understands it right away. Cas understands it more than anyone — how badly Dean wishes he could save everyone, and how hard he beats himself up about it when he _can’t_. Dean doesn’t have to say a word, and Cas just knows that’s what this is about.

That’s part of why Dean loves him so much.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas asks.

Dean sighs. He turns around so that his back is against the Impala. He rests his head back against the window, his eyes turned to the sky.

“I worked the case with this friend of mine,” Dean says. “This thing, its kills were super ritualistic. Very cult-like, I guess. And it kidnapped this one family, but… my friend and I were too late. What that thing did, well, it fucked him up pretty bad. It fucked both of us up, but he… he took it pretty hard. I don’t think he’s hunted since then.”

“Have you heard from him?” Cas asks gently.

“No. No, I haven’t.” Dean thinks back to that morning, waking up in an empty bed. He remembers getting his heart broken, truly, for the first time. He remembers the way he felt, right here in Arizona. Lost and defeated. Completely alone.

For the first time in nearly eight years, Dean remembers Lee.

**december 2019**

_”Why do you care so much, Dean?”_

_”Because someone has to.”_

_”Well, then… I’m glad it was you.”_

Lee’s body lies on the floor, the light gone from his eyes. Dean just stands there, frozen, for God knows how long. He feels sick just looking at him. The first man he ever loved, who died a monster at Dean’s own hands. And Dean just _loses_ it. He knows he should get out of here before someone shows up and finds the body, but he can’t help it when the tears start falling. He cries for the love he lost, for the good soul that he wasn’t able to save. He kneels down beside Lee’s body and places a hand on the side of his face.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed to me,” Dean whispers. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

That’s all he says. It’s all he _can_ say. He closes Lee’s eyes and slowly gets to his feet. He walks away, and he just has to hope that Lee knew Dean loved him. He has to hope that he knew it even as Dean stabbed him to death. Because Dean _did_ love him. He never stopped. Maybe Dean moved on. Maybe he gave his heart to someone else, but that never meant he let go of Lee. He never let go of those feelings he felt, and all the things Lee taught him.

_”All I give a shit about is you. I want_ you _, Dean, and that’s it. There’s nothing more to it.”_

_”I love you.”_

Dean realizes, as he gets in his car and starts the ignition, that he never said it back. Lee told Dean he loved him, but he never heard the same from Dean.

He doesn’t want to feel any of this shit right now. The pain is overwhelming, but hell, Dean doesn’t even know if any of it is real. He can’t afford to hold onto this loss right now, not with Chuck back on the board and every aspect of his life going to shit. He turns on the radio and cranks up the volume, because he needs _something_ to drown out everything running through his head, and—

_”I know that you’d be here right now, if I could have let you know somehow.”_

Of course. Of fucking course.

_”I guess every rose has its thorn.”_

Dean slams the radio off. He doesn’t know what comes over him then, but his bones are burning with anger, and he nearly loses control of the car. He tightens his grip on the wheel, his knuckles turning white, and he shouts as loud as he can, even though he knows his voice won’t be heard.

“Are you kidding me?” he yells. “Are you fucking kidding me, Chuck? This isn’t a goddamn game anymore, okay? Just _leave me alone_.”

Dean is overcome with numbness after that, barely even noticing the drive back home. He moves in some sort of a daze and doesn’t really register much. He knows Cas is at the bunker, and that just makes everything even worse, because there’s so much pain when he sees Cas — pain he can’t afford to feel, so he just pushes it away. He knows Sam tells him that there’s a way to defeat God, and great, that’s the win they needed, but Dean can only focus on his loss. Sam doesn’t even _know_ about Lee, so Dean can’t even talk to him about it — not that he wants to, anyway. He would rather just sit in the kitchen long after everyone has gone to sleep and drink until he can’t remember any of it. Chuck, Lee, Cas — he just wants to forget it all.

Of course, there is someone here in the bunker tonight who doesn’t sleep, either.

“You’re hurt.”

Dean doesn’t look up. He knows it’s Cas by his voice, not to mention the tension that fills up every corner of the room the moment he walks in. Dean takes a swig of his beer. He really needs something stronger.

“Don’t worry about it,” he mutters. The cut on his head will probably scar, but Dean can’t find the energy to care. It’s all he really has left of Lee, anyway.

“What happened today?” Cas asks. Dean looks up at that, thoroughly frustrated. Why the fuck is Cas being so nice? After everything Dean has put him through, why does he still care? Dean doesn’t need that right now. Cas’ kindness, or his sympathy, or whatever — he doesn’t need any of it. None of it is real.

“I said, don’t worry about it,” Dean snaps. Cas rolls his eyes and leaves right after that, not bothering to test his luck. As soon as Dean knows he’s gone, he downs the rest of the beer and slams it down on the table.

He mourns Lee that night by remembering the best moments they shared together. He doesn’t want to — hell, he just wants to go to sleep with an empty mind and not think about this at all — but his subconscious won’t let him. It’s like a floodgate opens somewhere deep within his brain, and Dean finds himself trapped in those memories. Every last one of them.

The night he met Lee.

His twenty-first birthday in Texas.

The first song Lee played for him.

Their first kiss.

Lee played an enormous part in changing Dean’s heart. Because of Lee, Dean is no longer afraid of falling in love. He was raised by a father who told him day in and day out that a certain form of love was wrong, but it isn’t. It’s so far from wrong. Lee taught him that, and Dean held onto it as tight as he possibly could. He held onto it when he met Cas — the first man he loved after Lee left Dean behind — and now, Dean has screwed that up, too.

Lee was the first love he lost, and with Dean’s luck, he probably won’t be the last.

Dean almost considers talking to Cas that night, but he doesn’t. He accepts the loss — the loss of Lee, and the loss of his angel — and he goes to bed that night with a heavy heart.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading. (i'm so sorry.)
> 
> kudos & comments are always appreciated!
> 
> follow me on twitter and tumblr, if you want. you can find me @ gilliestiel on both!


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